Kinship
by Ms. Usui
Summary: A chronicle of England and France through the ages - how the two came to be mortal enemies, allies, and strange bedfellows all in one life-time. Buckle-up, it's gonna be a bumpy ride. Some Fr/UK eventually. R&R!
1. New Kingdom

**Opening notes;**

First, I do not own "Hetalia," Trust me.

Second, I _do_ intend to finish "Space Race," but this new idea was nagging me.

Third, this is not an accurate representation of actual countries, presidents or armed forces. Country names are sort-of needed in this story though.

FrUK is my OTP. I admit. This will mostly_ not_ contain any graphic scenes, and if a future chapter does contain that, it will be marked. That's it, enjoy!

* * *

Unification.

It hurt more than one would think. The brutal process of compromise made the young nation's body ache, and whenever things went south and the various kingdoms came to war instead of terms, his small body would spasm.

Kent, Essex, and Sussex were engulfed by the larger regions. Slowly and painfully the remaining four succumbed – Wessex, Mercia, Northumbria and Anglia came together as one sovereign state… the Kingdom of England. The year was 927.

* * *

England's earliest memories were hazy. He sat under a twisted old tree, trying to recall the first few years of his life. "Few," of course, was a relative term. He vaguely remembered Rome's face, and his army occupying the country sides. And he remembered the wall they built to keep his brother out, named after one emperor or another… that must have been a few _hundred _years ago – but in the life of a nation; it wasn't very long at all.

England also got the inkling that he was alive before that. He had the outline of tall, well-built woman in his mind. Was it Britannia, of whom Rome had spoken of with both fondness and bitterness, or was it a figment of his imagination?

The young blonde scowled, drawing his knees up to his chest. Whenever he reminisced, he spent far too much time doing it – and now it was growing dark, and he was getting hungry. He huffed and stood up, collecting his bow and quiver in his tiny arms. They were a bit too big for him to use correctly now, but he'd grow into them. That's what Athelstan said, and he was supposed to listen to that man now.

England's scowl only got deeper the more the thought about _that_ as well. Before the unification, he didn't need to listen to anyone – no one was his king. Sure, he had made close friends with Alfred the Great, who was kind and generous, but he wasn't _ruled_ by the man! When England was just that – _Angle Land_ – he hadn't needed to worry about being tied down to any continental governments. Now he did, because he was a country and not a land from here on out.

The little nation stumbled along on the cusp of the woods, watching for unseelies in case they decided to bother him. Annoying little buggers, they were.

_Tmp, tmp tmp_… Little England's footsteps were muffled by the moist grass, so he could clearly hear the second pair behind him.

He turned quick on his heel and pulled his bow taunt, aiming it down the path.

"ƿhō ȝoʃʃ?"

With such an isolated language as Olde English, it was no wonder the stranger did not understand him. The other got a little closer, tilting his head to the side. When he spotted England's bow, he raised his arms.

"Put that down, you crazy savage!"

The stranger – taller than England by at least three feet, with longer hair too, though it was the same shade of gold – spoke in a crude, newly developing language that England didn't understand. So the smaller blonde's natural response was to glare and shout again – which he did.

This time when the older boy spoke, it was in Latin. "I said put that away!"

England had retained some of the Roman language from his occupation days, and the words sounded familiar. He frowned again.

"Who?" He managed to ask.

The other just scoffed. "_Who?_ I only see one of us with a bow, my dear!"

"_No. Who?_" England growled, finally retracting his weapon. He could tell already that this person was exceedingly annoying.

"Oh, _moi?_ You want to know who I am?"

England rolled his eyes and nodded. The stranger pursed his lips, mock-pouting.

"Why, you should have asked in the first place!"

"…" England stared at the taller blonde, before he huffed and turned around, continuing on his way. _Stupid foreigner, go back home!_ He thought off-handedly. He didn't notice that the visitor was following him until they had almost arrived at little England's house.

* * *

"This is where you live? It's a dump, isn't it?" The fancied-up boy asked, putting a thoughtful hand to his chin as he walked behind his unwilling guide. "I mean, there aren't any cathedrals, or… well, there's hardly anything!"

England growled again, dragging his equipment with one hand while he pulled his hood up over his head with the other. He was trying to block out the noisy drone of the other blonde's voice – it wasn't going well.

"Aren't you Christian? It's blasphemous not to have any churches around…"

"Pagan," England answered before the foreigner could go on.

His guest did nothing to stifle his chuckling. "_Pagan?_ You really are barbaric!"

England curled his free hand into a fist, trying very hard not to cry out in frustration. He glanced back at the other blonde, who fixed him with an expectant stare. Then, England sped off toward his house – a fortified old castle that one of the Britannic kingdoms had used before _unification_. Before the stranger could follow and, goodness forbid, _enter;_ England rushed inside and blocked the door.

"Hey! Hey! You little heathen, I wasn't finished!"

Oh, no, he just _had_ to follow him. At least he wasn't inside. "Leave, git!" England shouted back, hoping over to one of the lower spy holes to get a look outside.

The sun had mostly set, and because of this nuisance, he hadn't gotten any dinner! Well, wasn't that just great? England was perfectly angry, and the banging on his door wasn't helping. "Leaaaave!"

But, of course, the stranger did no such thing. "I came to find you, you know! You're Albion, aren't you? With the white cliffs?"

England blinked, looking out of the shabby window again. The older boy was peering in at him, smirking. "Am I right or am I right? I can see you from my house."

England was more curious as to how he knew that he was a country's embodiment than anything else. He glared at the other and again demanded, "Who?"

This time, he got an answer.

"I am the Frankish Kingdom. But, you may call me France if you wish!"

France blew a kiss at England the next moment. Because, uncivilized or not, the tiny nation was cute. Said tiny nation didn't appreciate the sentiments, and spat right in his neighbor's eye.

"Leave," he snarled, "do not come back."

A kingdom interested in him was always bad news.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Eek, it ended on kind of a bad note, huh? I promise it will get better later on.

Now, I know that this isn't exactly how Arthur and Francis meet in the series, but I wanted to take some creative liberties with this. The story most likely won't follow canon too much, since a lot of the topics I plan to cover aren't shown or are barely shown in the series. Now, what else...

OH - Leave a review!

About "_Space Race_," if you were waiting on chapter three, I'm sorry! When I went to write the next chapter, I noticed I had the timelines wrong. It's hard to tell, especially since I haven't exactly given you an exact date in the story, but believe me - I fucked it aaaall up. I'm debating whether to continue on like that or rewrite the first two chapters... comments, anyone?

Lastly; Arthur's exclamation in Old English is just "Who goes?"

So, I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of "_Kinship_," leave a review and have a nice day.


	2. New Conquest

**Opening notes;**

First, I still don't own Hetalia. Hidekaz does. And this is not an accurate representation of actual countries, presidents or armed forces.

Second, I realized that even though the story is supposed to be about England AND France, Iggy is going to turn out to be the main character... why? Because I know next to nothing about French history. Sorry, France fans!

On to the story!

* * *

After the delightful visit from his neighbor, England was unfortunate enough to find himself plagued with many more visits – not just from France, who seemed to be coming around a lot more often lately, but by a much more familiar face.

Denmark too was older than England – older than France even, but not by much. Whenever he came around, he wore the proud face and armor of the conqueror he was. It wasn't like the viking hadn't been to the isle before – because he had, not even a few hundred years ago, but every time he stepped foot on England's shore he would grin like he was taking it all over again.

_England's_ shore. Because he wasn't just a group of tribes for the Jutes and Scots and Danes to kick around anymore – he was England!

…and, even if he needed a little aid now and then in fighting off Denmark and his accursed Sweyn, he'd be damned if he'd admit it.

* * *

And damned he was.

France was over again, strolling around England's new, fixed-up lodgings. The Witan were out, aiding the King. Something which England himself should've been doing – but his countrymen needed him to be hospitable for once.

England was still small, still preferred his wildernesses and paganism to the civilized life that Rome taught and France often boasted of; but he was growing steadily. And now, at least, he was able to speak with his annoying neighbor – as much as he disliked the very notion of it.

"I…" he began, catching the other blonde's attention. England stared coldly at the ground while France turned to look at him, head cocked. He was silently coaxing the smaller nation on with a catty grin. England knew it, but couldn't bring himself to look.

"I need…" England paused again, taking the time to grit his teeth and ball his fingers into tiny fists. "_We…_ we could use your help.

"Against the Danes," he added reluctantly when no answer greeted him.

"Oh," France mused.

England looked up quickly, confused and frustrated. "Oh?" he mimicked, "_Oh?_ What do you mean, _oh?_"

"Just oh," the older country said with sly grin. After a moment he added, "Perhaps if you'd said _please_ you would be more inclined to a lengthier reply."

"I'm not going to beg for your help," England snarled, fed up with the whole thing already. He was red-faced from anger and embarrassment. His eyes, though, reflected a subtle worry.

France ignored it for the most part.

"You want the Danes gone?" he asked, watching amused as England nodded vigorously. "…well, I suppose I could help you out with _that_. At least this once, _mon cher_."

He snickered as England's face slowly melted from one of indignation to surprise. Honestly the little blonde had thought he'd have to try a little harder. "Really?" he asked, voice higher than he would've liked. He flushed again, and France chuckled.

"We're friends, aren't we?"

Now _this_ was a surprise. England blinked up at the honest face of his neighbor. "_Really?_" he repeated, blushing darker. Had he known France thought this way… would he have treated him so badly? Probably, he thought, but at least he wouldn't have felt bad about it. France nodded, and in return England smiled shyly at him.

By the time France had left, guilt was already eating away at the older nation's insides.

* * *

The fight was hard won, but it was well worth it. Denmark and his back-up were retreating. Godwinson hollered a victorious cry, raising the defeated Harald III's shield over his head. His devoted soldiers followed suit. Little England, battered and exhausted, pumped both of his fists into the air as well. He and his countrymen had done it! All on their own, too.

On the trek back home, there were smiles all around. England spotted a familiar blonde head of hair on the distant hill, and broke away from the group. He hurried over, out of breath, clutching his bow to his chest.

"France! France!"

France turned to him with a solemn smile, but England didn't notice just yet. He stopped in front of his neighbor, doubling over to catch his breath before looking up at him with a broad grin.

"You're late!" The still-tiny nation exclaimed, "But I didn't need your help after all, I – "

France shut out the younger boy's voice and, steeling his resolve, struck. So fresh from battle, England neither saw it coming nor resisted the blackness that greeted him.

Still too naïve, France thought, looking away from the tiny form. England appeared asleep instead of unconscious – and although the older blonde wasn't sorry in the slightest, it made watching his own men of Normandy a little easier, as they advanced into the island's countryside.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** W-what's with all of these terrible feel-bad endings? I'm sorry, I'm sorry! But cliffhangers get you to want to read more, right...?

This marks the beginning of the "Norman Conquest" arc! Yaaay! This is the event that really cements England and France as rivals.

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed the second chapter of "_Kinship_," be sure to leave a review and have a nice day~!


	3. New Habits

**Opening Notes;**

First, I still don't own "Hetalia."

Second, This chapter is made of fluff and absolute failure. Beware.

I thought I uploaded this already... oh, and I don't speak a word of French, so if something's incorrect, please point it out to me.

* * *

The first few days went well. France helped his men to defeat England's worn-out army, commandeering said country's house for the time being. He dotted on England at all hours, nursing him back to health. Surprisingly the little blonde wasn't angry.

The problems began only after England was well enough to move, and France immediately whisked him off to his own grand villa across the channel.

Homesick, unruly, his resentment at becoming an occupied territory bubbling up – England was more trouble than he was worth. But France – stubborn, confident, and honestly pining for some company other than Spain and his court – wouldn't be deterred so easily.

…but he would have to work hard to get the new land under control.

* * *

"_La France est fantastique."_

"…"

"That was an easy one, Albion."

"Don't _call_ me that."

"_L'Angleterre,_ then~ _répétition, __s'il vous plaît__!"_

"Hell no."

"_Façons!_"

"No."

"_En français, Angleterre."_

"…"

"You aren't to move until you do as I say~"

"…_La France est_ ennuyante. _Est-ce que je peux partir maintenant?"_

France smiled and nodded, watching England hop down from his seat and stalk toward the door. Every day before noontime, the older nation would host mandatory French lessons, which was probably England's least favorite part of living with him.

He had grown, though. England was still a young nation, but now he was half as tall as France himself. That's not to say that the Frenchman hadn't grown too, but it was still something.

The young blonde had also learned many other things under the rule of William (_le Bâtard)_. Primarily how life sucked with a Norman king. Even after complaining the only reply he'd gotten from France was a snarky; _"__He's __your __king__, not mine!__"_

England grumbled. France hurried to catch up.

"What do you want to eat today~?" The Frenchman asked, folding his hands behind him as he walked. England glanced up at him with a sneer.

"Nothing of yours," he replied.

France gave him an exaggerated frown, mussing up the little nation's hair. England screeched in protest.

"You cook then, you're supposed to be my servant after all," The older nation suggested, wrapping an arm around his acquired land and tugging him closer. Naturally England squirmed out of his grasp and glared up at him. "Fine, I will!"

Pleasantly surprised, France led him to the kitchen.

* * *

"H-how… how could you ruin such a simple recipe so _utterly?_"

England smirked, proudly lifting what was supposed to be a loaf of bread toward his occupier's face. It was rock hard, burned to a crisp on the bottom and around the edges. It looked liked the inside, made of mush, had collapsed – and France could tell without getting closer that there were some spices in there that should never have been near dough in the first place.

"Try it," England demanded. The taller blonde paled.

"_Non!_ Toss it away," he moaned, "are you trying to poison me?"

The shadow of mischief in England's eyes went unnoticed by France, who was busy shooing at the bread as if it were an animal. A small squadron of chefs had gathered around them, with much the same reaction as their home country.

While the Frenchman all squeaked to each other in fast, disbelieving French, England set the plate – and his perfect monstrosity – on the table and crossed his arms. For him, it was mission accomplished. _I intended to botch it, fool_, he thought to himself triumphantly, _anyone can bake bread!_ If France ate it and died, it was no skin off his back. And he would think twice before asking England to cook for him again.

Unfortunately, throughout the course of their living together, England would be the subject of many cooking 'lessons,' each he would purposely fail in order just to piss France off. And, even more unfortunately, the habit of ruining meals would become subconscious and ultimately unbreakable.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Reading over this chapter again, I really like how it came out, even if it was short.

Be on the look out for a guest appearance next chapter :D Furthermore; I've broken the "two chapter curse!" Yay!

Leave a review if you enjoyed this - or even if you didn't. Thanks! See you next time~


	4. New Opinions

**Opening Notes;**

First, "Hetalia" is not mine!

Second, Yay, someone other than France and Iggy makes an appearance.

This chapter is a bit rushed, sorry 'bout that!

* * *

"_¡Hola, Franco Reino!_"

It's a language England doesn't recognize – similar to the one France was forcing down his throat, yet different. Simpler, maybe. Or perhaps it's only the speaker that makes it sound that way.

England pokes his head around the corner to spy on his captor and the guest. He can tell right away that the stranger is a nation - but unlike himself, his brothers, France and the vikings, he is not pale. Not blonde. Hours under the sun have bronzed his skin, and his hair is a rich brown. The young man blinks, noticing him. He turns to the little nation and smiles – revealing a set of eyes nearly identical to England's own. They are ambitious emeralds.

"Ah~ that's him, _¿sí?_" Spain giggles, glancing at France before crouching to try and draw England toward him. The older blonde looked annoyed at the interruption, but nodded. He sent England a sharp look that said clearly: _behave_. Spain was a neighbor, and a friend, but lately he'd been having some trouble – and that the Spaniard had time to visit was a miracle in itself. France wanted to make his stay enjoyable, however short it was – so he serious for once… but that didn't guarantee England was going to respect his wishes.

He glared right back at France, making Spain laugh. The noise drew his attention back to the dark-haired nation, who's eyes lit up when England frowned and stepped forward into the room upon request. Spain stretched his arms out, smiling broadly.

"_Aquí, pequeñito_~ ay, he is so cute!" Spain cooed, "I want one just like him!"

Amongst the carefree words and easy expression, England caught something darker in the stranger's eyes. It was only for a moment, but the distinct look of a predator had come over them. England froze and stepped back, not frightened but certainly wary. He drew himself up and scowled. "Idiot!" he hissed, turning to flee from the room.

Spain blinked, slowly standing back up. He turned to France, who only smiled and shook his head.

"My dear friend," he said, "you do _not _want anything like him. Trust me."

* * *

They sat quietly for a while, France and Spain. The more Western country sipped his offered wine politely, all smiles, although in appearance he hardly looked old enough to tolerate the drink. He was shorter than France by only an inch or two, but his shoulders were wider. And where the blonde was trying to grow a beard to look more sophisticated, Spain kept his face shaven. His loose fitting robes were out of place in the French countryside, where the men and women alike wore tight-fitting tops and long, flowing bottoms.

After a while, Spain piped up. "So, England," he started, eyeing France over the rim of his glass. "But you've got Sicily too, haven't you? Aren't you being a bit greedy~?"

France chuckled. "_Non,_ I don't have Sicily yet," he said. "And I fear it will be a while before I do. England, though, wasn't as much of a challenge."

Spain nodded, suppressing his jealousy. He wanted little tykes to live with him, to order around. He wanted to lead a simple life, like the young man in front of him seemed to be doing. And Sicily was a land he admired. Spain wanted that, too. He smiled.

"When he turned, I saw the mark… at the base of his head," he mused, "Hastings?"

"_Oui_," France replied, "It was a few years ago, but the bruise isn't gone yet…"

Spain leaned back in his seat, waiting patiently for France to continue. The blonde hesitated, but looked up at his friend with a solemn grin.

"I feel terrible about it, honestly. What if it never goes away? He's too young to have a permanent blemish like that."

The green-eyed nation blinked, and laughed. France frowned, quirked a brow, but Spain only continued to laugh.

"_¡__Ajajaja! Amigo_, I have scars from when I was that age! I'm sure you do, too. They're history, nothing to fret appearances over! But they don't hurt, either… I think you should be asking if his still does."

France pouted, sinking into his chair a little. Spain chuckled again, reaching over to pat his shoulder. "He's been antsy lately, I don't want him thinking I _worry_ over him," he said, only fueling Spain's warm bout of laughter. France smiled lightly to humor the Spaniard, and when they calmed he chose to inquire about more serious issues.

"Spain," he said, making his neighbor glance up from another sip of wine, "how is everything in your home? The Rec-"

"Ah, it's fine! Fine… no, I lied. It's not so fine," he interrupted quickly, smiling again, though it was a weary one. France looked concerned, but Spain waved his worries away. "It's not your fault; I thank you for your gifts of churches! But… I just want everything to be over before _El Papa_ decides anything… rash."

France nodded, drowning the silence that followed with a second glass of wine.

* * *

They went on to speak of the political state of surrounding countries – and stories they'd heard about the far-off ones. And when it came time for Spain to return to the Land of the Sun, France made sure to send him off with bread and flowers.

He sighed contentedly at his door, watching the tanned nation turn to wave back at him before heading for home. When he closed the door and turned, the hurried shuffling of a figure around the corner caught his eye. For a moment, France dismissed it, but then he easily realized who exactly it was and he growled.

"_Angleterre__!_" he shouted, rounding the corner quickly to catch a glimpse of the smaller nation at the end of the hall, making his escape from the now-irritated Frenchman.

"_Je étais pas écoute! Je étais pas écoute!_" England chanted as France caught up to him, probably figuring that French might appease him – but it did not. France snatched England up by the back of his shirt, pleasantly surprised when the younger nation didn't try to kick at him – instead more focused on catching his breath and glaring.

"You were eavesdropping," France deadpanned, making England flush. It was several minutes before he answered.

"So what?" he snarled, wrenching himself out France's grasp when he was set back on his feet. "You, and that stupid guy… you were talking about _things_ that - !"

He clamped his mouth shut, curling his hands into fists. France frowned and crossed his arms. He always found England's tantrums and blushing face to be adorable, but this time… there was a coldness in the pit of his stomach that kept him from gushing like he normally did.

"…things that you didn't understand?" he asked. The way England stubbornly threw his gaze to the floor told him he was right.

"Foreign policies, a-and… even your own laws… I want that!" The little blonde said, looking back up at France – discontent, and surprise at himself, shown clearly on his face. "I want to – to be able to decide those things, without having to ask you!"

"_Angleterre,_ you shouldn't let William influence you so muc-"

"It isn't him! I don't _want your rulers_ to decide things for me!"

"…go to bed."

England lingered, but turned to do as he was told. He didn't look back. When he had gone, France released the breath he was holding and pinched the bridge of his nose. _This was a bad idea_, he was beginning to think, he was too young to try and subdue another nation. England wasn't acting out more than he had always been, but there was a change that France had noticed. He smiled ruefully at himself. Hadn't he acted like that, when the old man had come to take him? Hadn't he developed that same spark, and that same eagerness to leave Rome?

And he'd gotten his wish for independence granted… when Rome died.

The Frank shook his head. "Philippe!" he called, turning to seek the man out. France would not end up like Rome, and he would hold onto his conquered England for as long as he could.

* * *

**Author's Note:** That wasn't so bad, was it? The ending could use some work, though.

We're still early in history, and our friend Spain is in the Reconquista - the fighting between Muslims and Christians in Iberia. _El Papa_ - The Pope - will be calling for the Crusades soon, which is what Spain is worried over. Gosh, fun times, weren't they?

I think we'll have one more Norman Conquest chapter, and then we can move on to more exciting things.

As usual, I hope you enjoyed it and leave a review! Thank you!


	5. New Beginnings

**Opening Notes;**

First, "Hetalia" is still not mine.

Second, massive amounts of speculation and other things in this chapter.

Third, ...I just felt like there should be a third note, sorry.

Woo, it's been a while, hasn't it?

* * *

Looking back on it now, the curt argument between France and England was normal. It was like so many others that came before it, and that would come after. They made up shortly afterward, and things returned to what they were. France would offer to cut England's hair, and the smaller boy would refuse, only to wake up the next morning with considerably less hair than he went to bed with. England would butcher a French dish or a language lesson just to see what expression the older nation would make _this_ time.

Their life together was anything but calm, but it was… normal.

* * *

"…France?"

It was midday, and while waiting for the chefs to prepare a snack, France had decided a little fresh air would be nice, and dragged his little… servant? Brother? He didn't know what he was to England – out to lie in the grass and stare at clouds.

He did this sometimes. France. He was so busy with national affairs, that whenever he did get free time, he made sure to do something utterly relaxing. Usually it was a nice long dip in a private bath, or seeking out a musician and listening to music for what seemed like hours. Other times, though, he would just snatch England up, bring him outside, and lie beside him in the grass.

He didn't seem to hear his name being called by said country though, his eyes closed and a content look on his face. Had he fallen asleep? England sat up, nudging the other and calling his name again. France hummed at him, cracking an eye open to regard England curiously.

"What is it, _Angleterre?_"

England opened his mouth to form answer, but none came. He closed it and hurriedly looked away.

"Nothing," he said finally, moving to stand and brush stray blades of grass from his clothes. He looked down at France, who smiled up at him.

"But… I - I left something for you in your room, okay?"

"For me?" France asked, sitting up and putting a hand to his heart in exaggerated surprise. "Oh, careful now _Angleterre_, or I'll start to think you're warming up to me~"

England's cheeks bloomed red immediately following the remark. He put on his most vicious expression regardless, and practically shouted, "I-it's not because I like you or anything! I just – it's just – !"

He went quiet again, and with the full force of his glare having no effect on the still grinning France, England turned and stormed back into the house.

* * *

It wasn't until after dinner the same night at France had chance to retire to his room. He threw himself down onto the lavish bed, expecting to land with a satisfying bounce, but something dug into his back. He sat up, rather annoyed that something was getting in the way of his getting comfortable.

The offending object in question was what looked like a parcel. Wrapped in light skins and twine, it was surprisingly pointy…

"What on Earth…" The nation stared at it, turning it over in his hands. He didn't even think to see what was inside until young England's words from earlier resurfaced in his head. Ah, so it was the "something" that he'd mentioned…

France laughed quietly to himself, unraveling the package. Inside was cloth, made from wool, something that England prided himself in. Stitched into it were two rabbits. _No..._ France thought to himself, bringing the cloth closer to better inspect it. _A rabbit and a hare… _

He smiled.

* * *

France had always let England visit his country, his true home, on occasion. Though France would always accompany him, of course. After receiving England's gift, he decided, in return, to let the other blonde make a solo trip under oath that he would be at the port in three day's time, when the French sailors came to collect him.

England promised.

He came back bloodied.

* * *

After that, France kept a much closer eye on his territory. This didn't sit well at all with England, of course, but he understood it. He hadn't told France what had happened; only that he met with his brothers again. France didn't ask for an elaboration.

Currently he had England sat down in one of the vacant rooms, facing the window so that the young blonde could look out at the countryside. France stood behind him; lightly combing the mess they so loosely called the child's hair. It hadn't been long since France had snuck in England's room and cut it in the boy's sleep.

With a small, misplaced grin, France notes that the two of them had done this before. When, exactly, he can't remember – so he settles for laughing about it.

England frowns (he can feel it) and shoots him a curious glare without even needing to look. France shakes his head as his chuckles die down. How had he come to know this kid so well, in such a short amount of time? It baffled him, and—

"Stupid France – tell me what y— o-ow, OW!"

France hushed him with a tug at his hair - a small spot that was clumped together, similar to a rat's nest. "Shhh," he giggled, "Can't I go five minutes without hearing your voice?"

"_Je te déteste_!" England hissed, and France smiled sadly – answering him with another sharp pull of the comb.

* * *

Yes, thing were normal… they were normal until, out of the blue, England collapsed.

Something was happening in the British Isles, that much France could tell. He could feel a force rising, it's beginnings in his own country and it's end, surely, would in be England.

England himself was bedridden with a nasty case of civil war. This, he decided, hurt much, much more than unification. When asked by nurses what the problem was, he would only hiss "anarchy." France hadn't even known England knew what the word meant.

The smaller nation was bitter at everyone during this time, but no one more so than France. A lot of them time he would refuse visits from the other, and when his requests were ignored and his part-caretaker, part-captor would sit by his bedside… England would scream at him how much it hurt, and how it was his fault this was happening to him, because it was his lords and leaders that were tearing him in half.

Then he would cry and tell of how much his brothers hated him, because France and his Normans had been using England's land to invade them as well. He would tell how he hated France because the other hadn't even told him, and he had to find out while his own blood attacked.

"Shh, _Angleterre_, don't talk so much or you'll never get better…" France would coo lightly, though his words never had the desired effect. England would hiss and fuss at him until he left.

Finally, France accepted that this was no good. He was losing control of England, the territory and the boy, no matter what he tried. What's worse, he was losing England to a power that had it's roots in his own nobility. Half-heartedly, he noted the irony in that.

* * *

When England was well enough to walk again, he demanded to return home. "Home," he said, was not here with France, it was across the channel with his unsatisfied people and his bullies of brothers.

France walked him to the port, and to the dock, and went as far to see him off when the ship left harbor. He waved goodbye with a hard smile. England did not return the sentiments.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Bam. We're done with the Norman Conquest.

And you thought they were getting along so well, didn't you?

Sorry, but there has to be a reason that England hates France so much, other than the conquest and occupation. I figure, excruciating pain is as good a reason as any. Haha... ha. Okay, for real now.

The first half of this chapter is fluff. The whole rabbit and hare thing... rabbits aren't native to England, but hares are. The French introduced rabbits. So, there' that. Next, England's big brothers are bullies. They beat him up a lot - or so Hidekaz says. During this civil war - which is not the War of Roses, mind you, there were raids by the Scottish and Welsh, so there's _that._ Finally, France loses control of England to this thing called the "Angevin Empire." I had no idea what it was until I went researching for this story... it's complicated, because while the Angevin Empire is... technically French? It's separate from France itself. It even conquered some French lands.

Alright, well I'm not particularly happy with this chapter, but it gets you were you need to go. I was going to split it up, but like I said in previous author's notes, I want to head into later periods in history.

Hope you enjoyed this installment! Don't forget to leave a review!


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